


Painted Doll

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dubious Consent, Implied Character Death, Kidnapped Harry, M/M, Off-screen Character Death, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I took you home, set you on the glass, I pulled off your wings, then I laughed."</i> - Change (In the House of Flies) by the Deftones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painted Doll

**Author's Note:**

> The summary was the prompt I chose at darkdracoharry's My Bloody Valentine commentfest on livejournal. It had been awhile since I'd written anything dark and I jumped at the chance. Again, this prompt was at the **DARK** dracoharry community.
> 
> I am considering writing a sequel to this.

 

Malfoy's not quite right in the head anymore. Harry knows it, can see it in the way he tilts his head to watch Harry's blood run down his naked thighs. He doesn't blame him. Not really. Not anymore. He doesn't see _Harry_ there. All he sees is a canvas, painting red on white.

He watches Harry's reactions like he doesn't recognize them as human. His eyes are wide and glittering and without any emotion but wonderment. He's childlike in his torture, almost mindless. He reminds Harry of an animal that's known nothing but beatings and cruelty. He doesn't know any better so Harry can forgive him for Neville. His still body hangs across from him, limp in its chains, bloody and broken.

Some days Malfoy will come, sit in front of it and just stare like he doesn't understand why it doesn't move anymore. Harry almost feels sorry for him.

Malfoy never speaks—Harry's not entirely certain he has the capability anymore—but sometimes Harry does. He talks about Ron and Hermione, he talks about Hogwarts, he talks about what they used to be. Malfoy always pauses in those moments and listens raptly but there's no understanding there. There's nothing that tells Harry that the words _mean_ anything to him. Still, Malfoy always waits until he finishes before pushing the blade in.

Harry doesn't know how long he's been there but the fight has left him. Not long after, he'd found himself bitter and angry and for reasons he didn't understand himself he'd missed Malfoy. The real Malfoy. He'd tried to scream, insult, taunt him back into existence but Malfoy had just stared at him with those blank, glittering eyes. It had made him profoundly sad to realize the boy was gone and he'd wept at the loss.

Malfoy's blade makes a red line across his shoulder and pale fingers reach up to spread the blood around. Malfoy paints on him and Harry groans at the ticklish feel of it. He knows if Malfoy moves lower, as he often does, his cock will grow hot and heavy between his legs. Malfoy never does anything more than blink at his erection and watch with fascination as it twitches and jumps while his fingers play around it, never quite touching. It makes Harry feel dirty, like he's trying to seduce a child. When he is allowed his few moments of peace, he imagines the other Malfoy, the real Malfoy, teasing him this way. It'd surprised him at first. Now he understands. Malfoy had always answered him, couldn't let a single remark pass without getting in Harry's face, he _couldn't_ be indifferent to Harry just as Harry couldn't be indifferent to him. That's why Harry had wept, because he'd lost _his_ Malfoy, the one that had answered only to him. He had loved that Malfoy in his way and he had lost him without ever even realizing it.

One day Malfoy will go too far, cut too much, and it will be entirely accidental when it happens, when he kills Harry as surely as he killed Neville. Harry won't hate him when it happens, he won't hold it against him. He just hopes he can manage to take Malfoy with him because no one deserves this. He should be whole somewhere, no matter where that happens to be.

Malfoy's glittering eyes follow his hand as it drags the blade with almost surgical precision along the line of Harry's clavicle. He pushes into the wound, trying to see what makes it feel hard there. The disappointment that he hasn't cut deep enough to see the bone curves his mouth into a frown and he holds the blade up again. Harry has a feeling he won't fail this time.

He's distracted when the door opens and Harry shies away from the visitor. Voldemort places his hand on Malfoy's shoulder and Malfoy looks up at him like a puppy wagging its tail. Those spiderlike fingers tilt Malfoy's chin up and the eyes glow down at him with something akin to pride. Harry shudders.

Voldemort's eyes cut away from Malfoy and focus on Harry. His grin is sickening. "You've outdone yourself, Draco," Voldemort coos at him. Malfoy leans his face into Voldemort's hand and closes his eyes. It doesn't matter how his Master abuses him, he is his loyal pet, happy with even an ounce of affection as it makes all his other atrocities disappear. "What a masterpiece you've created."

Voldemort turns to Neville's body which is fit for nothing but maggots and dirt now. He'd tried to take it away once but Malfoy had cowered in the corner and slammed his head against the wall for reasons no one understood. Bellatrix had found him and—after her limited comforting skills hadn't paid off—she had cast the Cruciatus curse on him over and over to stop him until Voldemort could arrive. His screams still lived in Harry's nightmares.

Neville now stayed there like some kind of morbid relic, spelled to stay fresh and far from decay. He was Malfoy's doll, just as Harry would be.

Voldemort plays with Malfoy for some time, pointing out the other tools that could be useful to complete his masterpiece but Malfoy grabs his knife tighter and holds it to his breast with a scowl. Voldemort smirks and pets his hair, saying sleekly, "You are the artist, Magpie."

Harry doesn't know the significance of the nickname but Malfoy's face always lights up at hearing it and he always slices a little harder afterwards as if to please his Master. Voldemort leaves with a last brush to Malfoy's cheek and Harry can't help himself. "Malfoy," he calls out to him.

Malfoy tilts his head to the side curiously and wanders over to him.

Harry coughs and he can see he's gotten blood on his chest. Apparently Malfoy had sunk the blade deeper into his gut than he'd realized that morning. He's feeling almost pleasantly lightheaded. "I know it's not you. I know you're not right." The chains are digging deep into his wrists. "Come here."

Malfoy looks suspicious and tightens his grip on his knife but still he comes.

"Let me touch you," Harry pleads. He flexes the fingers of his left hand and Malfoy's eyes narrow. He shakes his head once, too hard, the way a child would. "Please. I want to show you something."

Malfoy's all but squinting now and he looks less certain.

"I won't try to get away, I promise."

Malfoy is still skeptical but he pulls the key up from the twine around his neck. He watches Harry like a hawk as he undoes the left chain. Harry doesn't waste even a moment and grabs Malfoy by the back of his blond head and crushes their mouths together. Malfoy makes a whining noise from how hard Harry is grasping his hair but he submits to his mouth, his eyes already scrunched closed. Harry shoves his tongue inside and his cock starts to grow. He lets go of Malfoy's hair to push at the small of his back, to shove Malfoy up against his salty, bloody skin. Malfoy whimpers but doesn't pull away as expected. He lets himself be kissed, his mouth be plundered and he lets Harry rut against him like a bitch in heat. Harry finally pulls away and pants against Malfoy's lips, dragging against them with his own, touching his tongue to the corners of Malfoy's mouth. "I forgive you," Harry says, resting his forehead against Malfoy's. "I forgive you."

Before Malfoy can realize his intent, Harry grabs onto Malfoy's right hand and plunges the blade into his own chest, right over his heart, as far as it will go. "I forgive you," he whispers and it's mostly a slur and if it sounds more like 'I love you' then that's only because he's dying.


End file.
